


Open Wounds

by lynch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bullying, Carl/Mickey Brotp, Child Abuse, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynch/pseuds/lynch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a surprise for everyone when Carl Gallagher is the one who goes home beaten up. It surprises Mickey as well, who's a bit too familiar with this kind of injuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Wounds

Carl Gallagher is a known menace at school. Detention is considered his natural habitat and he’s a regular visitor at the principal’s office. It’s largely believed that his problematic behavior is the product of his family situation: incognito mother, rarely sober father. So it’s just easier to keep away from him and stay out of his way. If he asks you for your lunch money, you give it up or end up _toothless_. If he hears you talking shit about his family, especially his little brother Liam, you end up _faceless._

Everyone’s quite familiar with his reputation, so that’s why Mickey’s wide-eyed and confused when Carl comes home that day, sporting an ugly shiner on his right eye and a gash on his forehead that’s still dripping fresh blood.

“The fuck happened to _you_?” He asks and sets his beer on the table. He’s not sure if this is normal, if Fiona is used to her brothers coming home like this, or if this is a new thing that needs intervention.

Carl doesn’t answer. He puts a finger up to his lips and shoots Mickey a meaningful glare. Then, he throws his backpack on the ground and shrugs his jacket of, before he proceeds upstairs in the most casual way ever.

Mickey looks down at Ian, who’s been sleeping with his legs in his lap for an hour now. He hates to disturb his sleep, so he tries to lift his feet up as gently as a Milkovich can and sets them back on the couch. Then, he grabs a bottle of vodka and follows Carl upstairs, determined to find out what’s going on.

He finds Carl bent over the sink, one hand cradling his ribs and the other one splashing water across his face.

“Sit,” he orders him.

Carl’s a little reluctant, but eventually, he sits himself down on the toilet. Mickey lowers himself to his knees in front of Carl and grabs some toilet paper, soaks it up with vodka and dabs it mercilessly over Carl’s forehead.

Carl hisses at the contact.

“Stings, huh?”

He nods.

“Fucking suck it up then,” Mickey said, his voice more brotherly than accusing. He continues to wipe away the blood. Then, he takes a good look at the wound. “It’s not too deep,” he announces. “You’ll live.”

He stands up, turns around looking for something. “Got any band-aids?” He asks Carl. Mickey doesn’t know his way around the Gallagher house that well yet.

Carl points at the medicine cabinet and Mickey browses through its contents. “So,” he continues, “mind telling me what in the fuck happened to you?”

“New kid at school,” he answers. “Got cornered.”

And all of a sudden, Mickey knows exactly what’s going on. Every once in a while, a new kid came along. He wasn’t familiar with Carl’s policy. He probably thought that people were joking when they talked about what Carl did to those poor little fuckers that called Liam retarded. He didn’t take him seriously and had the balls to catch him off guard and give him a nice beating.

“Who’s the little fucker?”

Carl’s face becomes a twisted grimace when he says the kid’s name. “Jerry.”

"Here's what's gonna happen with Jerry" Mickey begins. "You need a different strategy. He had your ass today, he'll have it any day. Got any switchblades?"

Carl nods a couple of times, "I got a few."

"Good. DON'T USE THEM. We don't want you in juvie for your next birthday." That wipes Carl's smile away, so Mickey hurries to explain, "If I were you..." He stops to consider this for a while, "I'd go with public embarrassment. A big fucking plus if you take pictures. Blackmail? Even better."

He slips his hand into his pocket and plucks a cigarette out of the pack. He lights it and drags out of it.  

Carl is smiling at him with manic enthusiasm. "Who taught you all this? Your dad?" And really, it's no surprise that he asks this question, because most of the delinquent shit Carl knows, he's learned from watching Frank set some brilliant examples for his kids. 

"Nah," Mickey dismisses this with a wave of his hand, "he just taught me how to steal shit."

"Cool."

Mickey checks Carl for more injuries, tells him to put some ice on his eye and declares his work here done. Then he gives him an awkward semi-pat on his back, picks up the vodka and heads downstairs, back to Ian.

He's halfway through the door, when Carl's hesitating voice stops him. "What if it doesn't work?" He asks.

Mickey turns around. "What do you mean if it doesn't -" he huffs, "Of course it will." He's still standing in the doorway, shifting awkwardly.  _Alright, alright._ "If it doesn't work, I'll just have to drop you off at school someday. Make sure Jerry gets a good look at my knuckles, huh?" Mickey flexes his fist playfully, reminding Carl of the profanities he's got tattooed there.

Carl throws him a half-sadistic and half-grateful smile and Mickey leaves the bathroom, wanting to go back and lie down next to Ian. Only, Ian's been waiting for him in front of the bathroom. He wonders how much of that he heard. 

"That was cute," he says, rubbing his eyes. Then, he catches sight of the vodka. "You didn't let him drink that, did you?"

"Hell, no," Mickey says, "it's for disinfection. Also numbs the pain down." 

Ian pushes himself off the wall and comes closer to Mickey, his hand twisting a knot in the hem of his tank top. "When did you become a nurse?"

And instantly, he regrets asking that question. He sees how Mickey looks away, avoiding eye contact like he does when he's uncomfortable. 

"When I realized I'm living with Terry," would have been an appropriate answer. But Mickey doesn't say it. He just takes another drag out of his cigarette and heads downstairs.  

"Hey, Mick," Ian calls after him. Mickey stops on the stairs landing, but doesn't turn around. "Thanks," he says, "for taking care of him." He wraps his arms around Mickey's and gives him a kiss on the neck. 

Ian realizes that extensive knowledge on breaking and entering, jumpstarting cars and the correct use of brass knuckles and guns wasn't the only thing Mickey got from Terry. He wonders how many times Terry came home drunk or high, or both, and poured out his frustrations over his son. How many times Mickey had to sit in the bathroom  _alone,_  taking care of  _his own_  wounds. How many beatings Mickey had to take, to find out that vodka was the best antiseptic for open wounds, that also acted as a local anesthetic.  _Sure, living with Terry could be really fucking educational._

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Shameless fic (or the first one I've actually posted online), so leave kudos if you liked it. Criticism is more than welcome! :)


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